


Background Noise - Rodney's Story

by misspamela



Series: Background Noise [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-15
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:39:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misspamela/pseuds/misspamela





	Background Noise - Rodney's Story

**1975**

Rodney mostly remembers the feel of paper, crumpled against his palm. He was sweating from the run home. Mrs. Jameson said he was smart, smarter than anyone else in the class. Smarter than the big kids in the classes upstairs. She wrote a note to his parents, telling them about his grades, and Rodney kept that note all day, preserving it for Mum and Dad to admire. He burst through the screen door, waving the note, when he heard his parents screaming.

"For Christ's sake, Gerald! How could you—"

"Right, because it's _me_ this time. You are the most selfish, inconsiderate woman – do you even _care_ about your children?"

"Oh, I suppose I'm driving Jeannie to soccer because I'm so uncaring and such a horrible person!"

His dad grabbed a book and threw it across the room. "I'm so sick of you," he sneered, and stomped out to the garage.

Rodney saw Jeannie hunched in the corner, arms wrapped around her shiny green uniform, trying not to scuff her cleats on the floor. She looked up, saw him, blinked away tears, and looked away. Rodney hated it when she cried, but he knew that Jeannie hated it worse.

"Mum," he whispered, holding up the crushed, slightly damp note.

His mother, face twisted in anger, turned to face him. For a second, it seemed to Rodney like her eyes and mouth had disappeared, replaced by a harsh slash of lipstick and two smears of eyeliner. She grabbed her keys off the counter, pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and started pushing Jeannie out the door. "Oh, for God's sake, Rodney. Nobody _cares_."

Rodney just stood there for a moment, watching his mother and sister out the window, crumpling the note against his palm.

 _She doesn't know anything_ , he thought, his throat burning and tight. _I'm brilliant._

 **1985**

Rodney McKay got in his first fistfight on his very first day of grade ten. Some dickwad decided to taunt him on his way out of Algebra Club, so Rodney responded with a few choice words about his genetic origin. Rodney got his ass completely and utterly kicked, of course, but his momentary display of bravado earned him the undying (until grade eleven) devotion of one Rosemary Davis. She was pretty, but not tall-blonde-stunning. More Dorothy Hamill-cute, if anything. But she had a sweet smile, a class-A rack, and she liked to hang out with Rodney after school. In other words, she was pretty much Rodney's dream girl.

One fine, glorious, truly monumental day, Rodney got bold on the red Kool-Aid and Smarties (sugar highs always made him a little exciteable), leaned over, and planted a messy kiss somewhere in the vicinity of Rosemary's upper lip. She gave sort of a startled yelp, then said, "Okay" and started to kiss him back enthusiastically. Rodney's parents were gone most of the day (and, frankly, most of the night, too), so their Wednesday afternoon make-out sessions became something of a regular thing.

On the sixth Wednesday, Rodney took extra special care with his hair (he was growing out the back), put on his very best shirt (yellow-and-black checked), and set a little mood music (Triumph, _Allied Forces_ ). Today, he decided, would be the day. There was no way she could possibly resist him.

It turned out that she could, in fact, resist him, and actually went as far as to smack his hands when they wandered too far – close! So close! – down her shirt. Not that Rodney ever gave up trying, really. He was a man on a _mission_.

Finally, on Wednesday Number Twelve, she lay down on his bed, pushed a condom into his hand and said, "You're sweet, Rodney. I want you to be my first." Rodney looked at her in shock, crumpling the condom against his sweaty palm, and stammered, "Um…okay. Yeah. Okay." He tried his hardest not to come right then and there from just the _thought_ of pulling off the pink cotton panties he'd glimpsed when she went to sit down earlier.

He decided to go with what he knew; lunging forward to kiss her like he'd done a hundred times before. She was sweet and soft beneath his lips, as always, but there was an added tension, an underlying sense of impatience. He shifted his hands down, sliding over the swell of her breasts. She shivered and he gasped, his cock jerking forward just from the feel of her hard nipples under her tight t-shirt. Rodney fumbled for the hem of her shirt and, finding it, jerked it over her head. "Ow!" she yelped and pushed his hands away. She wriggled out of her shirt and managed to, much more smoothly than he had tried to be, pull his shirt off, too.

The first touch of skin-to-skin contact made him almost lose it again, because he knew what was coming next, yes he did. _Pants_ were next. And then it would be _underwear_ and then it would be, you know, _that_ skin on her skin and…Rodney sucked in a big breath and wrapped her in a hug just to stop her wonderfully agile hands from moving any further. He sat there for just a second, his cock throbbing almost painfully, until she said "Ow, Rodney, you're poking me," and pushed him away.

Some measure of control regained, Rodney yanked her pants off. He wrestled with the button on his own jeans for a minute until she seemed to take pity on him – _it was about time!_ – and undid them for him. He lowered himself down over her and kissed her again, pushing up against her belly involuntarily. Rodney shuddered at the feel of her. Okay, this was either going to happen now or it would all be over in seconds. He tried to grope around casually for the condom while he was kissing her, but it wasn't where he…crap, where did it go? He broke away from her, apologizing, "Sorry, sorry." They spent a frantic few seconds throwing sheets wildly off the bed and giggling before they found it lodged in the pillowcase.

"Um," Rosemary asked, "Do you know how to use that?"

Rodney snapped, "Of course!" and undid the wrapper with shaking hands. He'd practiced, hadn't he? Just not under battle conditions. He managed to slip the condom on and get into the right position without injuring either of them. Rodney got a good grip on himself, aimed at what seemed to be the wettest, hottest part of her and pushed, trying _so_ hard not to hurt her, or come, or do both at the same time, which would be both awkward and kind of cruel. Once he was in, he stopped for a second, even though his body was screaming at him to _Move, move, move, you idiot!_ and asked her, "Are you okay?"

She bit her lip and nodded. "Just keep going."

He started moving and oh, God, it was the best thing that had ever happened to him in his life. It was ice cream and Christmas and Nirvana…but with gorgeous bouncing breasts. Rodney was so busy reveling in the total joy of her skin and hair and the tight, slick pressure around his cock that he completely forgot to try to make it last. Just a few blissful minutes into it, he felt the shaking, curling feeling in his gut and he was lost, thrusting wildly as he came inside her.

The sixty sweaty seconds before they got up and cleaned themselves off were some of the most calm and relaxed moments that Rodney McKay ever had in his life.

 **1995**

Rodney had just finished up his doctoral thesis on "The eikonal expansion in electromagnetic nuclear physics." This was, obviously, a perfectly legitimate reason for Rodney and his roommates to throw a party involving beer and babes and maybe throwing up in the kitchen sink.

At around two AM, Rodney was thinking that two out of three weren't bad and that Hector was totally cleaning up the sink tomorrow. The beer was almost gone, and the only babes that showed up were looking for the BU party upstairs.

Rodney stumbled into his room, figuring that if he just lay down then everyone would go away. He kicked off his shoes and sat on –

"Ow!"

Rodney jumped up. He began pulling covers off the bed. "Listen, this is _my_ bed, and, incidentally, my party for _my_ thesis, and I'd appreciate it if you let me pass out in peace, whoever you are."

"Rodney?" someone mumbled from amongst his sheets. He could only make out the outline of a white t-shirt and short dark hair. "Hey, man. I was just kind of, uh, passing out myself. Sorry."

"Jimmy?" Rodney looked closer. Yep, it was Jimmy Harden, an undergrad Astrophysics major. He hung around the labs like a plague. Smart kid, but still. He was an _undergrad_. "Well, now you're awake and, for some reason, still in my bed."

"Right, sorry." Jimmy swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tumbled out. "Um. Rodney?"

"Yes, what?" Rodney's head was beginning to pound in a way that meant he'd stopped drinking too long ago. He noticed a bottle of what looked like tequila in Jimmy's hand. Rodney snapped his fingers at him. "Give me that, I have a headache."

Jimmy handed him the bottle and Rodney slugged it back. Weaving a little, Jimmy took a few steps toward him. "You're the smartest guy here."

"Yes," Rodney said.

"I mean, seriously. Way smarter than pretty much anyone." Jimmy stepped right into Rodney's space. "I really admire you."

"Um, thanks."

"You could be the next big thing in physics, like, bigger than, I don't know. Your theories on particles are…wow."

"Well, if you'd read my thesis, you could come up with a more cogent—"

"I did," Jimmy interrupted him.

"You did what?"

"I read your thesis. It was brilliant. Your brain is totally amazing."

"You did?" Rodney asked. "Really? Oh." Well. Undergrad or not, the kid _did_ show some promise.

"You've done so much for the world of physics." Jimmy said, earnestly, wrapping one arm around Rodney. "I'd like to show my…appreciation." Jimmy slid his hand down the front of Rodney's pants.

Well, okay. This was really unexpected. Rodney's brain, normally so quick and agile, couldn't quite decide whether or not Jimmy was really a fan of his research and thus wanted to get in his pants, or if he was just complimenting his work to get in Rodney's pants. He also couldn't quite decide which one of those options was more flattering, but hey, both Option A and Option B sounded pretty good to Rodney.

Rodney opened his mouth to say, _Sorry to disappoint you, I'm straight_ , but the words never really made it out, thanks to Jimmy's hand making it inside his boxers. Okay, so the babes had never materialized, and Rodney hadn't exactly been flush with the ladies since he'd started working on the thesis, but he really was…straight. Oh, God. He hadn't felt another hand on his cock in so long that he wasn't really caring about the straight thing so much anymore.

Leaning against the wall, Rodney vaguely registered Jimmy slipping down to his knees and the feeling of a hard, callused hand being replaced by a warm, wet mouth. It was good, it was awesome. Blowjobs were just never bad in Rodney's world. Granted, it would have been better if Jimmy had been a nubile, blonde, _female_ undergrad with perky tits and a red lace bra and – oh, oh, _oh God_ , he jerked and came and Jimmy didn't pull away, just held on to Rodney with those big strong hands and -- wow! Swallowed! Neat!

Jimmy stood up and shakily stepped away. Rodney thought that maybe he should say something. "Thanks," he said.

"Um, yeah." Jimmy looked down and up again, then shifted from side to side. Rodney had no idea what he was supposed to be doing here, but the headache had returned, along with the overwhelming desire to fall into the bed that he _still_ hadn't managed to get to yet.

"So, uh," Rodney said, and gestured at the bed. "I'm really – I've had too much to drinkand been up too long, and—"

"No, it's okay, I get it." Jimmy stumbled toward the door. "Um, see you around." He walked out and shut the door behind him.

Rodney shook his head to clear it, but the fog of post-orgasm, post-drunk exhaustion was just too overwhelming. He half-stepped, half-fell onto his bed, and sinking into the soft blue cotton of his comforter was almost as good as the orgasm. He lay there for a minute, reveling in the exhausted weight of his own bones, before drifting off.

His last thought before sleep overtook him was, _I just got head from a groupie._

Rodney McKay had _fans._

 **2002**

Rodney didn't sleep, eat, or talk during the entire flight to Russia. He just stared out the window, head in his hand, with one leg jiggling. Thank God he was able to get a military transport. He couldn't handle a commercial flight right now. Screaming babies. Sweaty adults. Perky stewardesses. _Hi, my career is in ruins and I'm being shipped to Siberia! Can I get an extra bag of peanuts?_

Siberia. How clichéd was that? Rodney shivered. It was going to be cold. _Canada_ was cold and hi, thank you, Rodney wasn't in Canada anymore for a reason. He thought back fondly to Area 51. Nevada was beautifully warm. The expanses of desert and red-orange rocks were so alien to him at first, like what he always imagined Mars to look like. Rodney loved it.

And now…Rodney's mouth twisted bitterly. Naquadah generators? Please. He could build one in his sleep. He was going to have to hand-hold some bovine scientists who probably couldn't even build a combustion engine, and, oh yes, didn't speak English. Rodney spoke minimal Russian with a really bad accent. He wondered if he could find the Russian translation for "give me a fucking break" on Babelfish.

Sam Carter wouldn't be sitting here, broken up and angry. Rodney swallowed hard, suddenly ashamed feeling the prickly, dull heat diffuse over him. She'd be thrilled and enthusiastic and positively bubbling over with scientific inquiry. God, that was so hot about her. Her science sucked, of course. Or at least it would have sucked in any of the labs Rodney had worked at. However, her science seemed to work fine, better than fine in the field.

Maybe it was Rodney's science that sucked. Maybe he sucked in some way that was defined by real-world rules that nobody told him about. Maybe there were no rules and they were all just guessing.

With that utterly fucking terrifying thought, Rodney curled up and pretended to sleep for the rest of the flight. If the airmen noticed him shaking, they were too polite to mention it.

……

When he walked into the SGC the next time, his stomach clenched and roiled like he was fourteen years old and waiting for Maggie Kwa to come out for tennis practice. Get a grip, he chided. She's just another woman. Just another woman that was maybe smarter than him and had publicly humiliated him and who he still found incredibly hot.

Rodney sighed. This was going to be a long day.

Later, after he'd gone to visit Sam in the hospital, he was in the SGC cafeteria pouring himself a cup of coffee when that new alien guy walked in. Rodney looked at him and said, conversationally, "I'm never going to be a great scientist." The idea that he wasn't ever going to be – wasn't already -- Rodney turned white and clenched his hand on the Styrofoam coffee cup, crushing it.

"Ow!" he yelled. "Fuck!"

"Hey, are you okay? Stupid question, of course you're not." The alien wiped him off with some napkins and steered him to the nearest table.

Rodney stared at his hands. The skin was pinking up. That was going to really hurt as soon as he stopped freaking out. "Sam is an artist," he said. "I'm a hack. I'm an unfeeling hack with no passion." He looked up at the guy – Jonah? Judas? – and shook his head. "I have no idea why I'm telling you this. You have no idea what I'm talking about. And you're probably content to hang on the coattails of the Great Samantha Carter."

The guy shrugged. "Hey, I'm just the new guy. I'm kind of finding my place here myself." He looked over Rodney's shoulder at the far wall. "Maybe you just haven't found something that you're passionate about. The SGC is kind of her thing, you know?"

"Are you kidding? I have devoted my professional life to the SGC. Where else am I going to study wormhole physics, huh? Your planet?" He said "planet" in a tone of voice he usually reserved for "The Mighty Ducks."

"Well, hey, like I said, I'm just the new guy." The alien got up. He didn't seem offended or annoyed, just kind of interested. "Good luck."

Rodney almost immediately forgot about the conversation until, a few years later, he got the call asking him to go to Antarctica. His mouth went dry and his heart started pounding as soon as he heard about the things they wanted him to do.

He was in love before he even got on the plane.

 **2004**

Tomorrow, the world will change. The greatest adventure in human history, Elizabeth said. Humans colonizing other planets. Other galaxies.

And I'll be part of it. No, not just a part: a leader, Rodney thinks. History books will have pictures of Rodney McKay, PhD, Leader of the Atlantis Expedition's Science Team. Man amongst men. Brain amongst brains. No Colonel Carter or General O'Neill or Daniel "I'm the man" Jackson to interfere with his glory.

No, Atlantis was his baby. His and his alone.


End file.
